


Plain and Simple

by kiranerys42



Category: Schitt's Creek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:27:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23670796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiranerys42/pseuds/kiranerys42
Summary: David goes to Garak's Tailor Shop.
Comments: 21
Kudos: 28
Collections: Schitt Trek





	Plain and Simple

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NeelyO](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeelyO/gifts).



> [didipickles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/didipickles) and [NeelyO](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neelyo) are to blame for this fic.
> 
> It is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine.

Under normal circumstances, David would not accept any clothing-related recommendations from a resident of Schitt’s Creek. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and he is definitely desperate to find a way to represent local artisans when he joins Alexis at the upcoming gala in New York. 

Plus, considering what he now knows—and has been sworn to secrecy about—regarding Twyla’s finances, he is willing to take her words to heart when she says this tailor is “expensive, but worth every penny.”

Her directions to the actual tailor’s shop, however, leave much to be desired. David thought that he knew his way around Schitt’s Creek and the surrounding towns pretty well by now, but he’s never heard of _the promenade_. But sure enough, he finds the rusted old sign, nearly illegible, that points down a hidden alley off the main street in Elmdale.

“The _promenade_ ,” he mutters under his breath, “did they ask my mother to name it?”

David rounds the corner, and is surprised to find that the promenade is a narrow but bustling alleyway with much more than just a tailor’s shop. The most prominent fixture seems to be the open-air bar, which is serving a wide variety of clientele, many of whom are playing some sort of gambling-based bar game David is unfamiliar with—wait, is gambling even _legal_? David doesn’t think it is, but who knows what’s legal in the Elms. 

David takes it all in as he walks down the alleyway—the bar, the street vendor selling a massive unidentifiable fruit on a stick, and two of the strangest women he’s ever seen who are in the middle of an intense argument. One of the women has spots tattooed down the sides of her face, and the other has strange ridges across her nose and a ridiculously gaudy earring on one ear. 

Finally, David reaches the end of the alleyway, where he finds a plain sign which simply reads _Garak’s Tailor Shop_.

“Well, here goes nothing,” he mutters, opening the door.

Inside it’s so dimly lit that David can barely see anything. He blinks a few times, taking in the surroundings. It… doesn’t look promising. The entire room is decorated in a muted color scheme, with strange geometric designs all over the walls. There’s a few pieces laid out on tables, and a few more on mannequins. Each and every one of them is in a hideous color scheme, and—god, some of them are _velvet_. Somehow, it all manages to look both futuristic and dated at the same time. 

“How may I help you?” David hears a voice from behind him, so he turns and sees a man who he assumes is Garak. The man’s haircut is atrocious, and his clothes are even worse—he’s wearing a striped green shirt and a dark red vest with polka dots. It makes him look like a _watermelon_ , for fuck’s sake. 

“Hi, I’m just—”

“Oh, you must be Mr. Rose; of course, Ms. Sands told me to expect you.”

“Uh, yes. Please call me David. And you are…?”

“Ah, yes; you can call me Garak. My word, what a terrible host I’ve been so far! Please join me for a cup of tea while we discuss your… needs.”

Garak gestures towards a small table in the corner of the room. 

“I mean—sure, why not,” David says with a sigh. He gets the impression Garak won’t take _no_ for an answer.

The tea is surprisingly good.

“What kind of tea is this?”

“Tarkalean,” Garak replies.

“Um, I’ve never heard of—Tarkalean? Where do you get that?”

“Oh, Tarkalea, of course. You should ask Ms. Sands, I’m sure she could help you source some. I’m afraid I don’t have any extra to spare right now, otherwise I’d send you home with some today.” 

“Oh-okay. Thank you.”

“So,” Garak says. “I hear you’re in need of a suit?”

David takes a deep breath, sets all his misgivings aside, and does his best to explain what he’s looking for. Something classy, but not boring; boundary-pushing, but not boundary-destroying; elegant, but not pretentious. 

“Hm. I see,” Garak says, sipping his tea thoughtfully. “Yes, I think I can manage that. Well. Shall we begin?”

“Um—begin?” David stutters as Garak smoothly stands up. Something about this man has David feeling unsettled. It’s as if Garak knows something David doesn’t know. 

David doesn’t like it.

“Begin taking your measurements, of course.”

“Oh—right.” David follows Garak to the other side of the room. Garak is quick and confident as he takes David’s measurements, and his professionalism gives David a glimmer of hope.

“Well,” Garak says. “You can come back in two weeks.”

“Two—weeks? That’s it? Can you—send me updates?”

“Oh, no,” Garak says, and he _winks_ ; why is he winking? “I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise. You’ll pay upon receipt, of course—I wouldn’t _dream_ of charging you for a suit you haven’t seen.”

“Um. Alright. I’ll see you then, I guess.”

David spends the next two weeks fairly certain that he dreamed the entire thing. But exactly two weeks later, he receives a text from a blocked number, which simply reads _**It’s ready**_. He doesn’t even think to wonder where the text came from—he just heads back to Elmdale to pick up his suit.

When he arrives at Garak’s shop, he is greeted by a distracted Garak who’s in the middle of ushering another customer out the door. The customer is a surprisingly attractive young man in what is _probably_ a uniform, but more closely resembles pajamas. 

“Now, Doctor Bashir,” Garak says patiently, “I need to attend to this customer now. I’ll see you next week at the usual time, and we can continue this _fascinating_ conversation then.”

“But—” the man sighs dejectedly. “Fine. I’ll see you next week.”

“I apologize for the delay,” Garak says, turning to David. “Doctor Bashir can be quite difficult. Of course, I’ve always enjoyed a challenge. Don’t you agree?”

“I, um,” David says. “Sure. I got your text? You said the suit is done?”

“Ah, yes, I’d forgotten you’re not much for idle chit-chat. Straight to business, then,” Garak says. “Here it is—please, go try it on. I’ll wait.”

David is nervous as he steps behind the curtain into the changing room and begins to undress. There’s no way this suit will be anything but atrocious, and David has no idea how Garak will react if David refuses to pay for it. It’s weird, because Garak has been nothing but kind and hospitable, but David has a strange feeling that the man could be very dangerous.

But it turns out that David’s fears are misplaced.

“It’s perfect,” David gasps as he looks in the mirror. “I—I can’t believe it.”

“Thankfully, I’m gracious enough to take that as a compliment,” Garak says.

“I mean— _yes_ , of course it’s a compliment. Thank you so much.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Garak replies, and the way he says _pleasure_ is—almost flirtatious. Fuck. David can’t have Garak _flirting_ with him. 

“It’s too bad I didn’t know about you when I got married last year,” David says quickly, “or I would’ve sent my husband here for his suit.”

“A pity,” Garak agrees. David’s pretty sure he’s not talking about the suit. 

David settles his bill, and just as he’s about to leave, it occurs to him to ask one more question.

“What’s your name? Or—what do you prefer to be called? Obviously, I know your name is Garak,” he says, “but I’m sure people at this gala will ask who designed my suit, and I’d like to be able to give them an answer.”

“Just Garak,” he replies, smiling. “Plain, simple Garak.”


End file.
